


The Cultivation of Mad Baggins

by ForAllLove



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: As in weeds, Bofur is so helpful, Bofur is the best, Craic-Ship, Fluff, I love you Bofur, M/M, Naughtiness, Often and with enthusiasm, Romance, Scandalising the Neighbours, So does Bilbo, Teasing, Weeding, making new traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForAllLove/pseuds/ForAllLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plans are changed, Bilbo is flustered, a straw hat is removed, and Bofur gets what he wants — twice.</p><p>What a scandal!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cultivation of Mad Baggins

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for [the-lazy-took](http://the-lazy-took.tumblr.com) via [The Hobbit Winter Holiday Exchange](http://hobbitholidayexchange.tumblr.com). Happy Holidays!

“There you—” Bofur’s eyes widened.

Bilbo only had time to ask, “What?” before the dwarf collapsed into his armchair, guffawing. “Honestly,” he grumbled. Bofur’s laughter, even at his expense, was charming, but less so when he hadn’t done anything but _be_. Well, there was nothing for it. He set down his basket and leant against the parlour table to wait.

Bofur reached out an apologetic hand as he caught his breath. “Are— are you going out like that?”

“To the flower garden, yes.” Bilbo frowned down at himself. Nothing out of the ordinary. “What’s wrong with how I look?”

The gleam dancing in Bofur’s eyes was an answer in itself, one that mollified any prior offence — anything at all, if Bilbo were honest with himself. Surely there was no reason to go out just yet, not with a more pleasant occupation on offer. He never could deny that face.

But Bofur _knew_ that, and therefore, on principle, he must be made to work for it.

If only he would do something! Already, Bilbo had begun to ache for an embrace, a kiss, anything but this effort to drive him to distraction with a look when he knew what else Bofur could be doing. And yet, his insufferable dwarf would be smug all day if he relented so easily. He gripped the edge of the table to keep himself steady while Bofur’s gaze trailed its lazy way from furry feet up to— “That hat.”

So that was it — his poor, sensible, useful straw hat, the bringer of such mirth? Bilbo pointed at his dwarf’s currently bare head with an incredulous laugh of his own. “And you’re one to talk, you with your scruffy old wingy thing?”

Bofur, the tease, only tipped his head.

“It is a perfectly acceptable hat for pulling weeds. It keeps my ears from being burnt.”

The more excuses he made, the brighter Bofur’s smile grew.

This game had carried on for far too long when they both knew there would be no weeding this morning. Since Bofur seemed content to fluster him out of his wits, it fell to Bilbo to move things along, for a smug dwarf was better than none at all. “I do believe you’re just picking on it because you’d rather I pull something else.”

“Why, Mr. Baggins, whatever happened to my proper hobbit?”

“ _You._ ” Bilbo’s retort quavered into two syllables, because Bofur had finally begun to move, all power and grace as he rose. Closer and closer he drew, until Bilbo felt he could wrap himself in his warmth and his scent. The intensity of those eyes gone dark was nearly too much; he tipped his head back in welcome. Bofur’s smile softened. He reached for pointed ears. Bilbo swayed forward, grasping for him.

Bofur pulled away with his hands full of straw.

Wobbling back against the table, Bilbo whimpered under his breath. It was just like a dwarf to use his powers for evil! Bereft of attention, he watched Bofur inspect the hat, giving it all of the focus that Bilbo deserved, thank you very much. Perhaps he would go out to the garden after all and see how Bofur liked being ignored in favour of inanimate objects.

Bofur gleefully set the hat upon his own head.

“…Bother weeding.”

* * *

The bedroom was golden with afternoon sunlight by the time Bilbo awoke. He stretched; his muscles were still tingly and relaxed, and it proved easier to sag back into the mattress. Maybe he could stay put until Bofur came back. His stomach gurgled softly, a reminder of a skipped luncheon. He conceded with a sigh. Maybe Bofur had something waiting for him, and he could bring both food and dwarf back together.

After washing up and finding his somewhat rumpled clothes, Bilbo ambled towards the kitchen, listening. One of the things he’d grown to find comforting about having a dwarf around was that he could hear where he was in the house, whether by bootsteps or snoring or a cheerful song.

Bag End was silent.

Bofur was, as he’d dreaded, in the flower garden — amidst destruction. For a long while, Bilbo’s voice stuck in his throat. Here was the basket, brimming with his little plants, there the haphazard assortment of weeds in the flowerbed, and, in the middle, a humming dwarf wearing an ill-fitting straw hat. “Bofur,” he squeaked, “what are you doing?”

Bofur, quite used to hobbits sneaking up on him, turned with a sunny smile. “You looked too sweet to wake. I figured, since I’d kept you from it, I’d do your weeding for you. Did you sleep well?”

“What? Yes, yes, but how…?” Bilbo pressed his hands to his mouth.

“Oh, that’s simple. The pretty ones stay in — even a dwarf can do that.”

“But… Bofur, you’ve…” It was too late in the season to plant afresh. The plants in the basket probably wouldn’t survive. Bilbo didn’t know what to do. There had been a flower garden as long as there had been a Bag End, his entire life. His parents had worked in it together. It had given him something to care for when he’d been alone.

And now, Bofur knelt in it, beaming from under that absurd hat, awaiting his approval.

There would still be flowers, Bilbo thought, and a garden he’d tend with the one he loved, who had stood by him through war and fear and anger, who had seen something wonderful in Bilbo that he himself hadn’t thought to look for. If those flowers were a tad unconventional, what of it? He’d gone on an adventure and brought back a dwarf! Why not give this a try? He began to smile, and then found he couldn’t stop. “I’m proud of you, love, thank you. Have you eaten? Shall I bring you something?”

“I’ll come in with you. Could you fix up some of that lemon squash?” Bofur rocked up on his knees and tipped his face up in invitation. “You’ve spoilt my tastes with your sweetness. I can’t get enough now.”

Chuckling, Bilbo plucked the hat from its perch. “First, let’s put this silly thing away.” He bent down for a warm, whiskery kiss.

* * *

“He’s an odd one, that Bilbo Baggins,” said the old gossips in the taverns. “Very odd, indeed.”

“Mark my words, nothing good comes of adventuring,” muttered the gammers down The Hill.

Holman Greenhand stole a glance at the offending garden and shook his head. “Now, Master Bofur is a decent fellow, for a dwarf, but there are some things best left to hobbits.”

But young Hamfast Gamgee, who often happened across Mr. Bilbo and his dwarf while they tended their wildflowers — talking, laughing, and, once, throwing handfuls of dirt at each other — surveyed sallows and shepherd’s grass, kingsfoil and misty-bells, and thought it no bad thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this one was rough - health-related inability to concentrate or imagine - so, if there's something amiss, please let me know!


End file.
